Psychological Senses
by Nyx the Coyote Kit
Summary: Welcome to the realm of Psychological Senses. Psychological Senses is a certain number of varied one-shots. Rated M for violence, bad language, explicit intercourses, etc. 3rd story: May the curtains never fall
1. Index

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**Welcome to the realm of Psychological Senses. Please find a comfortable sitting position, devoid of any element that could distract you in your reading. Also, please note that this is an intelligent index that will get updated when new additions will be added later on.**

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**Psychological Senses is a certain number of varied one-shots. Some aren't finished yet so the exact number remains unknown, but all of them have the same pairing and rating.**

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**Please enjoy.**

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**-1-  
****Perfectionist****  
**"When faced with eternity, some succomb to madness while others seek comfort in short-lived things."

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**-2-**

**Love  
**"Love is blind and sometimes favours those who think they least deserve it."

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**-3-**

**May the curtains never fall**

"A mysterious play takes place in this forgotten place."

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**Please be aware that some specifications, translations and/or recommendation concerning the one-shots shall be added at the utmost end of the present document.**

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	2. Perfectionist

**Title: Perfectionist**

_When faced with eternity, some succomb to madness while others seek comfort in short-lived things._

* * *

I bring to my lips the fruit of years of hard labour and patience. Everything I did, all the sacrifices I made for this one moment of pure bliss. I inhale the intoxicating scent of a job well done.

Perfection. Everything is perfect.

Humans spend their lives trying to bring their world to absolute perfection. They don't realise that it's impossible to bring everything as they want them to be. But me, I spend my life bringing little details to perfection, one at a time, then I let them be as they should be, mishappen and shapeless. Each time I succeed, I feel a wave of feelings like no others crash over me.

Like a drug would do. In some way, I guess I am a junky, since I can't stop. But this time... This time, I think I have brought something to absolute perfection.

For years I have stood guard, protecting, watching, anticipating this moment. The first time I led eyes on this beauty, I knew the day had come. The day I would make my masterpiece.

Ever since I was born, I waited for this moment. It was true torture, really, to wait while knowing the moment of absolute perfection was so imminent. I could practically smell it.

But I had to wait, otherwise I would ruin this unique chance. It obsessed me and sometimes I feared I did too much. Because too much is like not enough.

Then the perfect moment came. Perfect opportunity, perfect settings. Then I found the perfect spot. I would bring this to perfection. A masterpiece. Excitement has taken a hold of me.

Right now, only this moment counts. This only moment. Only a few seconds to wait. I remember all my hard labour, the years I've spent preparing this moment, anticipating my goal. I remember it like it was yesterday.

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It all started exactly six years ago. I found an orphan on a deserted road, near a burning house. A peasant house. The child was dirty. A peasant child.

Any other noble would have lifted their nose and walked away, but not I. I only laid eyes on him and excitement rose in me. The thrill of perfection.

I took him home, gave him a bath and bought him clothes. As I looked again at him, I knew.

Innocence always made a good canvas for perfection, after all.

Golden eyes with a fire burning within. Golden hair flowing like a river under a harsh sun down on strong shoulders. Skin tanned by long hours of work outside.

He was thirteen years old, then. I tasted him for the first time the night of his fourteenth birthday. Even the best wine could be nothing more than a pale comparison. Good thing he remembered nothing in the morning and he didn't like mirrors.

Two years later came something I should have seen coming. Thieves came and beat him good. By the time I came to his rescue and killed the thugs, his right arm and left leg were so wounded that the doctor had to cut them off.

A real tragedy. I was certain at that time that my lack of vigilence had ruined everything. He became sick very quickly afterwards. So sick, in fact, that I paid a fortune to have the best doctor come and treat him.

The doctor was also a mechanic. Seeing my dear orphan so sick and sad made his heart hurt. He made metal limbs for him.

Right after, my orphan became better really quickly. And, as opposed to what I had first thought, he was even more beautiful.

When he reached nineteen, last month, the thrill of perfection assaulted me again. The time had come. The excitement came back full force and I applied myself into making everything perfect. Everything was ready for tonight.

I brought him to my bedroom, the perfect spot. His eyes shone with absolute trust and abandon, the perfect opportunity. Only candles lit the room, incence burning in a corner to heighten the senses, the perfect settings.

Now the last touch before bringing this - no. Him - to absolute perfection. My nimble fingers undress him slowly. The perfect pace. I savoured the moment, every millisecond of it.

Goose bumps formed on his exposed skin. He shivered slightly under my intense gaze. Calculating, I commited every detail to memory. The candles reflecting on his metal limbs. His golden hair sprawled on the comfy pillows. His questioning golden eyes, wide with apprehension and some fear.

Innocence makes a good canvas for perfection and holds fast until the very last second.

His trembling hands rose slowly and he took his time to reveal my pale skin to his curious eyes. I then took his innocence. Slowly, with the same determination and care for the details I showed for the past six years.

The thrill of perfection grew in me, building up. The perfect moment.

The slapping sound of skin on skin, the sound of his heated breath against my ear, the sound of his breathy moans and mewl, the sound of my name on his lips, the sound of his voice saying pleas and praises. Like a drug.

My mind was foggy. I was almost there. To the moment of absolute perfection. I sank my fangs in the tender skin of his neck and fetched my prize. The fruit of years of hard labour and patience.

I raised it to my lips as golden eyes closed in completion. And as I reached mine, I sank my fangs in his barely beating heart. Everything I did, all the sacrifices I made for this one moment of pure bliss. Of absolute perfection.

Shattered as a last whisper escaped his lips: "I love you, Roy."


	3. Love

**Title: Love**

_Love is blind and sometimes favours those who think they least deserve it._

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If someone asked me to describe you, it'd take me a while to answer. Sure, I could say and praise your good looks. I could talk of your eyes the color of coal, your hair the color of the crow, your skin the color of milk but so much more appealing, your rippling muscles under that soft and thin layer of skin... But everyone knows that. Everyone knows your looks. Everyone has seen your exterior and the mask you put on in public. I could say how much of a bastard you are. How selfish you always are. How much of a womanizer you are. Ladies' man my ass, though. I remember you telling me the only two loves you ever had were Hughes - if there's a God, may he bless the poor guy's soul - and me. I should feel honored, but... it's just not the feeling I get when you look at me with those eyes. Those eyes that say so much and hide equally as much. It's not the feeling I get when your scent drifts to my nose. Sweat, cinders and something spicy, a musky, addictive scent. It's not the feeling I get when I feel your presence nearby. That strong presence that scares the bad guys but attracts everyone you hold dear. If someone asked _me_ to describe you, I could say all those things, but it wouldn't be what they are waiting for.

To your supperiors, I'd say how much of a good leader you are. How much you care for your underlings. How you often even put your life on the line to save anyone and everyone you can, however dangerous the situation may be. I'd tell them all you did for your whole unit, for the towns, for the people. Sometimes, I really think you deserve the title of "Champion of the People" more than I do or ever will. You're a hero, and they'll probably only see you as such when you'll pass away. When they'll have to decide what to write on your gravestone, you who has neither a wife nor kids.

To the rest of your underlings, I'd say how good of a man you are. How lucky the women you date are. How generous you can be when the situation comes at hand. I'd tell them how many lives you saved, even though they probably have heard it all. I'd tell them how many times your simple support saved me. I'm sure they wouldn't believe how many times just thinking about you during missions helped me get through them in one piece - or more, when my automail were damaged, but the flesh was always all there. They already know you're a hero. Sometimes, I think that it isn't me the people should label an angel dropped down from the heavens, it should be you. I'm sure you were originally destined to be an archangel up there but someone miscalculated something and put you with us. I'm sure I'm not the only one glad of it, and I don't even believe in God, so for me to call you an angel... well... it's ironic, don't you think?

To what's left of my family - Winry, auntie Pinako and Al - I'd say how good of a lover you are. How much you take care of your partners. How much love you hide behind that mask of yours. I'd talk to them about all those sweet words you have a habit of whispering into my ear every time you have a chance to, whether it be in the middle of a corridor at HQ or cuddled on your couch in you small home. I'd tell them about how I saved you and you saved me and how many times we returned the favour to each other. Sometimes, I really think I don't deserve you, you're too good for me. But every time the mere thought would cross my mind, I'd remember those warm onyx you use for eyes, that small smile you reserve for only me, and all the times you told me you never wanted to loose me. I'm sure they'd be amazed to hear me talk about you that way.

To you, I'd say how much I love you. All of you. I'd tell you every single thing I love about you. Every little detail, every damn habit, every quality and default and just plain you. I love your smile when you open you home's door only to see me standing before it, hesitating whether to knock or not, still so much goddamn shy, and the way you would just look at me with all that love in your eyes and invite me in. I love when you push me roughly against a wall and kiss me as if the world would end in the next second and it was the last thing we'd do together. I love when you cup my cheek, look deeply into my eyes and kiss me as if I'd break if you were too rough. I love when you pound into me like a wild animal and then afterwards I'd have to fix your bed or the couch or whatever surface we were unto that broke under your brutal force. I love when you make love to me slowly, tenderly, lovingly, as if I was a fragile, unexperienced virgin that had been violated and you were trying to pick up the pieces.

I love the feel of your skin against mine, the warmth of your body, the sound of your voice or your heartbeat. I love those adventurous hands of yours, even though they seem to love my butt quite a lot. I love the feel of your silky hair between my fingers, so soft one would think you've got cat fur on your scalp. I love when your eyes burn hungrily through my skin when I lay under you, completely exposed and defenseless. I love your breath ghosting over the skin of my neck and ear when you lean down to whisper or lick or nibble. I love when you bite down, when you mark me as your own. I love when you cover my feverish skin with butterfly kisses. I love when hold me tight, as if I'd go away if you let go. But you know, I think I'm more afraid of you leaving me than you are of me leaving you.

I kills me to think you might find someone better than me and abandon me. You say it will never happen, but I don't deserve you. I seduced you just to prove that I could. I knew you were my superior officer and you'd be in deep shit if the higher ups found out, but I didn't care. I wanted to prove to myself that I could win over everyone and anyone I wanted. I was so stupid back then. And when I let you lead me to your house, to your room, onto your bed... when you told me you loved me and that I was the only one you loved since Hughes was dead... At that precise moment. It was then that I realised how muchof an idiot I was. You were a saint back then and your still a saint right now. I'm a mere punk, an orphan who took up the ways of the back alleys, selfish and brainless. I was even worse back then, no question about it. But I still don't deserve you.

Though I keep being selfish and keep you all to myself. I enjoy you, I envy you, I hate you, I'm jealous of you and everyone around you. I love you so much, Mustang. I can't even describe _that_ feeling, but I know that I love you and since the moment I realised it, I had a purpose. Not a kind-of purpose like getting my brother back into flesh. A true one. Spending my life with you, trying to repent for all my flaws and hoping that one day I might deserve you. Hoping that I'll always be your one and only. It hurts and it's not perfect. But I'm not perfect. Nobody is. But to me, you are what looks most like perfection. You are my everything.

I love you. Plain and simple and complicated and dirty and everything. But I love just you. So please, keep me forever and ever by your side. Man this sounds girly! But it's so true!

I, Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, prodigy and eldest Elric, am completely heels over head in love with you, Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, my supperior officer, my one and only.


	4. May the curtains never fall

**Title: May the curtains never fall**

_A mysterious play takes place in this forgotten place._

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A breeze blows in the deep night sky, swaying clouds in a heavenly waltz over the glimmering stars. They cover the moon for a moment, and when it peeks out again, its dull silver color has turned crimson as the blood which gives life to us all. As if it had put on its bal gown for this special occasion.

The curtains have risen to show a wonderful play.

In the deserted ballroom of the sleeping mansion, the piano begins to play its eerie melody. The open windows let in the wind, that gladly comes to play in the dark, velvety drapes hanging from the high ceiling. Shadows crawl on the polished floor, swirling in an invisible dance to the rhythm imposed by the cryptic music of the great instrument. Like ghosts from an age long lost to the memory of the living, who still remembered the lush feeling of being of flesh and dancing and enjoying themselves in midnight parties.

Demons join in their play as the angels descend too. All are invited in this room where the rust-colored rays of the full moon play with the mind, imposing visions of a glorious night where fancy-dressed nobles dance merrily in whirls of skirts and ribbons and soft words whispered in the crook of a neck in the intimacy of a waltz.

Heated bodies and minds, soft laughters of lust and flirt. Where beings of dust, wind and lost ideals rise to enjoy the night, away from curious, prying eyes. Where time itself stands still, as if holding its breath in this incredible rendez-vous of the untrusted and the unseen.

The play continues on, stretching forever and ever in the summer air of this abandoned ballroom and the piano continues to emit its sounds uninterrupted, its musician nowhere in sight, as if calling in a siren's song for its master to come back. It goes on and on, tirelessly, the shadows and light dancing together in mingled pleasure. Like lovers who had not seen each other and had suddenly been given a chance to enjoy the night together.

Child-like feelings of glee and blind love permeating the atmosphere of the room, dry and windy and so pleasant to the imagination. A caress, a soft whisper that sends shivers down the spine.

In the crowd, the couple dances with feline grace, unyielding passion, lost in this world created on this particular night for them the those like them. Dark being of golden sin and light being of ebony love. The incubus and the archangel, exchanging heated gazes in the intimacy of this waltz. Nothing else mattered, nothing but the both of them in this heavy-atmosphered room and the faraway sound of the ghostly piano. The others, in delight of their dance, stop dancing themselves to look at them and enjoy this part of the play.

A whirlpool of dreams and emotions, the longing in its purest form and the acceptance only an all-loving can have, almost taking real form in the ballroom, under the copper, gentle glare of the moon. The both of them twirl and twirl on the polished floor, eyes never leaving one another, hands clasped tightly, mouths only inches away, in this night of oblivion and the play goes on.

A graceful play of unrestrained desire and undeniable loneliness, in the cold of death even on this hot summer night. Where what is supposed to be forbidden is more than expected.

And still the piano plays and they dance, one against the other, or maybe it is the other way around and the piano plays because they dance. None knows and none cares as their cold fire ignites others in the ones around them and the eyes that aren't really there start to leave them.

A filthy parody where orgies are common, where adultery and pedophilia and everything else that is otherwise frowned upon in the living's society is common.

They do not care. They only want to enjoy this only night where they are allowed on stage to perform.

The golden incubus smirks as he licks his partner's nose, hot breaths mingling in the shrill air. They hear naught but the eerie sounds of the piano's melody. The ebony archangel bends down to offer a kiss to his beloved. There is nothing else in their minds but this night where they are finally able to play freely and enjoy themselves unbidden. This night is theirs. This time is theirs. This desire is theirs. Theirs alone.

No clothes are involved as another kind of waltz suddenly takes place between them, but none takes offence since all are already busy doing the same.

All wish the curtains would never fall on their anonymous performance.

The sinful meeting the sinless in this beautifully filthy, painfully pleasurable act. Muffled gasps rise in the air, as the shadows writhe on the polished floor, nothing louder than gasps and whispers for it is their secret and no one should learn of it.

The clouds in the dark sky cover the moon once again and as its silvery light peeks back out, the piano strikes its final note and the shadows have retreated back from where they came from, the dust and broken dreams and unfulfilled longing and desire following with them.

The curtains have fallen. And as the ghostly silver rays of the moon shine through the open windows, the names are whispered secretively, a goodbye kiss and a promise that they would meet again.

_["Edward..."_

"_Roy..."]_


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